I am rarely shy of telling people just how in love I am with my three aspies. I adore them and their quirks, even if they do drive me nuts sometimes. During the past two weeks my boys have had some interesting challenges to face. I had an accident that has made me bed bound for the time being and my role as servant to “their majesties” has become redundant. For the past two weeks, my three aspies have had to put their own agendas aside to help their Mummy. It’s been a growth curve for all of us. Casey has been enjoying Cub Scouts for some time now. It’s a place where he fits in, although at times a little boisterous and chaotic for his liking, the 100 year old cub pack meeting routine has proved a winner. Recently when a bike ride was announced Casey was immediate to decline attending. He is not long off training wheels (that’s an entire bribery blog in itself) and his first public group riding experience at school camp was quickly ended thanks to a tree that “happened” to be in his way. So we compromised with the idea of Casey roller-skating instead. Casey is a highly accomplished roller-skater, and has done many trips to the park, along footpaths and gravel. His balance is extra ordinary. As we were doing things a little differently to the rest of the pack I offered to join him. I’ve been roller-skating for over 2 years now and although I’m not the most agile on skates, I’m only one star off inter club bouting with my roller derby league. Apparently though, this confidence with being able to skate quickly and tactically doesn’t translate to outdoor skating. Especially when there are curbs, bitumen and potholes involved!Only 100 meters into the 3km excursion I hit a pothole and fell. Not a particularly spectacular fall, I just fell on my butt. My butt didn’t even hurt. What did hurt however was the ankle that just happened to find itself under my butt. It broke. Badly. My butt broke my ankle. If there was ever a motivation to lose weight, I think I’ve found it. All in all, I was just unlucky. It was a freak accident. I sat calmly on the side of the road and waved everyone on. “I’m fine, don’t worry, just keep going, I’ll meet you at the end destination”. I managed to convince the crowd of cubs and leaders that all was fine, just a bruised ego.

When one of the, not so convinced, parents came to my aid, I quite calmly told them that my ankle was undoubtedly, unequivocally, broken. The snap I heard and the tingling feeling wrapping my foot was a unique fracture feeling. Unlike the many, many sprains I’ve endured through many years of childhood dancing, this was different. I knew that I had about 15 mins before the pain would hit so I organized someone to look after Casey and drove myself home. I called my husband, “Slight situation here, I’ve broken my ankle. I’m driving myself to hospital but I’ll stop off on the way home to grab my phone charger, can you meet me out front in 10 mins?” My husband has somewhat better judgment then me, when I got home he’d rounded up the two remaining aspies and decided to drive me to hospital. About 5 minutes down the road the pain hit, and boy did it hit. I was breathing like I was in labour and started having flash backs to Stephen King’s Misery ankle smashing scenes as the pain escalated. The boys didn’t last the wait in “emergency department purgatory” as Bailey’s ADHD medication had worn off. After Bailey had approached the 10th person in the waiting room asking for coins, so he could raid the overly tempting vending machine in the foyer, I told them to please go home. I would be less stressed on my own. Although the distraction of two excited aspies exploring a new territory was taking my mind off the fact that my foot felt like it was being sawn off my leg! (Yeah, I know, another Misery reference, I think I read too many Stephen King novels as a teenager.) After 45 minutes I finally was admitted. The doctor cut off the sock, glanced at my ankle and said it’s broken, it will need surgery, and I don’t even need an x-ray to see that. In the space of one hour a purple tennis ball had grown on the side of my foot. Seriously, it was that big, and purple. Big and purple. Not pretty.

Meanwhile Casey had been dropped home after his otherwise successful outing, and became quite teary. He thought it was his fault, although Andrew assured him it wasn’t. The dedicated pack leader Akela also wore his heart on his sleeve and called me at the hospital being very apologetic. I explained it wasn’t his fault either, it was just an accident, I would be fine, and I would recover. “That’s just the morphine talking", he joked. Little did he know that the nurse was standing next to me holding a syringe of the long awaited painkiller. I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone carrying any guilt about what had happened. Well, maybe my butt could be found a little bit guilty!

Two days later, surgery involving a plate and six screws realigned my ankle and set me on a path to recovery. Andrew did an amazing job of looking after the boys and visits from them at the hospital were a great comic relief to my elderly roommate June. I think I fell in love with June during my short stay. I really wanted to take her home with me. Our bond was formed with our unison buzzing and writhing in pain waiting for busy nurses to bring relief. When she was in too much pain I would buzz for her, and when I was accidently left in the bathroom, as I watched my toes swell and turn purple feeling like they were going to pop, she buzzed to get me out! Three long days after that one little slip up I was home. Stuck in bed with my ankle raised. Helpless. And not very helpful. In a very busy home. That was when my boys really started stepping up. The usual, “Mummy, can you please get me a drink” was met with “no, but while you’re there getting one for yourself, can you get me one too please?” And they did. Suddenly the roles were reversed. My requests for help were met with eager, “Yes Mummy” military salutes. They fought over who would carry my pillows as I transferred from bed to couch. They were eager beaver butlers, waiting on my every need.

Ten years of serving my boys had meant that they knew what service meant. I was proud of them. They did it gleefully and diligently, although somewhat messily. The trail of mess that was left behind became a significant cleaning task for my wonderful husband when he got home each night. The sticky trail of dried apple juice, which was marched across the tiles, also led to an unwelcome ant invasion. Casey handled the uninvited wildlife fairly well, with only a few minor freak-outs. Bare feet, squished ants, sensory processing issues, you get the picture. They also helped themselves to food, although not always the healthiest of choices, they were fed. This Tuesday brings my return to hospital and hopefully removal of my cast. The moon-boot, which will replace it, will allow me more maneuverability, and independence. Although rest is still a number one priority it will be very difficult for me not to jump up and do everything for myself. I am by nature a very independent person. I would much rather do things for myself than ask for help, even if I genuinely need it. A flood of help from dear friends has been very gratefully received and taken to action. If nothing else, this lesson has taught me that’s it’s okay to ask for help. More importantly, it has also taught my aspies the joy of serving. A lesson that from now on, I intend to keep teaching.